Pierre Boulez Saal
Bach: Brandenburg Concerto no.1 in F major, BWV
1046
Hindemith:
Kammermusik no.1 for twelve solo instruments, op.24
no.1
Saed
Haddad: Sombre, for thirteen musicians (world premiere)
Stravinsky:
Concerto in E-flat major
for chamber orchestra, ‘Dumbarton Oaks’
Boulez Ensemble
Thomas Guggeis
My final concert as a European
citizen; hereafter, to quote the text of Zemlinsky’s Lyric
Symphony, I shall be ‘ein fremder im fremden Land’. All the more so, of
course, when I return, to put it mildly, reluctantly to ein ganz fremdes Land, most likely never to escape it. The twin
blows of defeat on 12 December and departure on 31 January have at least cured
us of hope, perhaps the cruellest of tortures: coinciding, in typically savage
irony, with Beethoven’s anniversary year. To have heard the Ninth Symphony next
door, at the Staatsoper, on New Year’s Eve was an experience emotional enough;
that, Fidelio, or anything else
Beethovenian would probably have been too much. Instead, at the Pierre Boulez
Saal, we heard music by the ever-rooted yet aesthetically cosmopolitan Bach and
by three other composers who (have) found themselves in fremden Ländern. Hindemith and Stravinsky both spent periods of
their lives in exile, while Jordanian-born composer Saed Haddad lives and works
in Germany.
This was the first concert I had
heard conducted by Thomas Guggeis. He impressed just as greatly as in his
work in the opera house. Having the excellent Boulez Ensemble, drawn from members
of the Staatskapelle Berlin and West-Eastern Divan Orchestra, did no harm
whatsoever, of course, but Guggeis’s preparation, understanding, and
communication of that understanding proved equally important for another fine
collaboration.
The First Brandenburg Concerto
was a case in point, blessedly free of ‘period’ affectation, yet Bach as
ensemble music – this is, after all, the Boulez Ensemble – rather than small-
or, for that matter, large-scale orchestral music. The first movement offered somewhat
odd balances at times, but I think that was in part owed to where I was seated,
a little close to the horns. (Perhaps, at last, I had found a minor
disadvantage to this performing space ‘in the round’.) At any rate, a bright,
energetic, performance benefited from a sensible tempo that sought not to draw
attention to itself but rather to permit Bach’s music to come to life – and succeeded.
Dignified and well articulated, with a fine sense of chiaroscuro, the Adagio also benefited from Guggeis’s unobtrusive
command of the longer line. Dialogue between Jiyoon Lee’s excellent violin piccolo
solo and three similarly excellent oboes (Gregor Witt, Charlotte Schleiss, and
Katharina Wichate) proved a fine centrepiece around which the immanent
qualities of Bach’s score could happily shine through. There was similar yet
different joy in counterpoint, harmony, and their combination in the third
movement, likewise in the interplay between solo and ripieno writing, any
balance problems now resolved. A courtly and characterful procession of dances
brought the work to a close, reminding us that Bach’s idea of progression in a
multi-movement work is often very different from ours. Sometimes that can cause
problems for modern listeners or performers; here the question never arose. Musically
directed virtuosity from oboes and horns (Samuel Seidenberg and Sebastian
Posch) in ‘their’ Trio proved but one of many delights.
To hear one of Hindemith’s 1920s
Kammermusik pieces immediately
afterwards was instructive, perhaps above all because it suggested contrast
rather than underlying affinity (at least to my ears). The first movement was
frenetic and sardonic, knife-edge precision as expressive as it was impressive:
quite the introduction. The second movement calmed down somewhat, if only
comparatively. That calming permitted one to savour the estimable musical
qualities, which are in truth at least as much harmonic as rhythmic and as
anti-Bachian as they are Bachian. The opening clarinet-flute duet (Assaf
Leibowitz and Silvia Careddu) sounded as if a slowed-down Twenties sequel to The Rite of Spring, the appearance of
bassoon (Mor Biron) only rendering it more so. Here was an oasis of
neoclassical calm; and yet it moved. It was tonal, yes, yet closer to something
non-tonal in function than perhaps one might expect, at least at times. Such
ambiguities were fruitfully explored under Guggeis’s wise direction. The unease
of that movement seemed to be inherited by a finale of high tension, maintained
and if anything increased until finally something had to give. Its dislocations
disconcerted, indeed puzzled. Then all was over, siren and all.
Saed Haddad’s Sombre, commissioned by the Daniel
Barenboim Stiftung, here received its world premiere. It seemed to me to speak
throughout of an incisive grief, a grief that certainly spoke to me. Nimrod Ron’s
opening tuba solo, dark yet not without implied hope, endured slings and arrows
surrounding it, evolved into an ensemble danse
macabre, subsiding, tuba handing over to bassoon, whose role as solo bass
instrument would later be assumed by double bass, and so on. In between, harp,
bass drum, and other percussion enlarged the reach of a dark ensemble that yet
resisted something external, even deathly. At times, I was put in mind of the
finale to Mahler’s Sixth Symphony, though that may say more about me than the
work. A viola lament, joined in duet by arabesquing oboe; bells of hope,
sweetest yet cruellest of tortures; patterns of material that seemed ready to
repeat yet never quite did; a related sense of having to pick oneself up, only
to fail: perhaps it was not fanciful to hear this music as tragic. It was
certainly an accomplished work afforded accomplished performances; I should be
keen to hear more.
Stravinsky’s Dumbarton Oaks Concerto rounded off the concert
in fine fashion. The busy automation of its first movement seemed still more
distant from Bach than Hindemith’s response. That discrepancy is surely where
the music’s interest lies – and so it proved in performance too. A little more overt
aggression might occasionally have been welcome; however, I can see and hear
the case for a more Apolline approach, as in the composer’s earlier Octet. Here,
the Rake rather than the Rite beckoned, the controlling mastery
of Stravinsky as watchmaker, divine or otherwise, apparent and polemically so
at that. Likewise in the central Allegretto,
whose spareness usefully highlighted the passing of ideas in mid-statement
between different instruments. If one wanted to hear where Stravinsky’s later
interest in Webern had come from, here was a strongly suggestive possibility.
Aggression was, doubtless justly, more overt in a finale which at times seemed
to approach the wartime anger of the Symphony
in Three Movements, as well as its sonorous delights. There were no easy
answers to be gleaned through the mechanical swing. Art
is no mere refuge, however fremd our
current Länder.
